Revenge
by Riverflame
Summary: MartyxLogan slash. 'I bet you're not so great.'


Title: Revenge  
Rating: PG-13 for sexuality  
Notes: Marty/Logan. I don't even know this fandom, or most of its canon; I have no grasp on the voices of these two guys. But I know a little context. And so I wrote fic. XD (Watch out for bad dialogue. /)

* * *

"Well, if it isn't rich jerkwad." Marty stumbles into the laundry room. Logan is standing at the sink, washing the mud off his forearms from where he slipped going around the house. The noise of the party is dimmer here, but still audible. From outside, Logan thinks he can hear rude laughter and retching sounds.

Logan raises his brows innocently. "Hello, what have I ever done to you?"

"You don't need to do anything to me," Marty mumbles. "You don't need to do anything at all; you have it all taken care of." He leans against the washing machine, eyes slightly unfocused.

"Is that what – "

"Spoiled little rich kid, you're all brag and no action, I don't know what Rory sees in you."

"I don't know what she sees in me either."

"That's what disgusts me." Marty glares. Logan turns off the water, wishing he could just walk out, but Marty is blocking the door now, swaying slightly on his feet.

"Listen, Marty – it's Marty, right? – there's nothing to talk about."

"Like hell there isn't." Still blocking the door, but his tone is subdued, more morose than enraged.

"You're belligerent when you're drunk, has anyone ever told you that?"

Marty ignores him. "I don't see why you're any better than I am. You, you stay away from her. You're nothing but trouble."

"Whoa, whoa," Logan raises his hands in a gesture of pacification. "Rory has a mind of her own; you know that. I could stay away from her but it's entirely her choice whether to stay away from me."

"You're a real jerk." Marty lurches forward and Logan steps to the side, wary, but the boy doesn't lash out.

"No brag, just fact." Oh, that mouth will never stop getting him in trouble.

"I'll give you fact!" Marty lunges and shoves Logan, who hits the wall. It's not hard enough to hurt, but enough for Logan to justify a fight. He doesn't want to, though. Fighting won't help this. Settling back on his feet, he plants them sturdily apart, with his palms still open before him. "Hey, I'm sorry, I was just joking. I didn't mean it that way. I don't want to fight, okay?"

"You don't deserve her," Marty scowls, not backing down. "I should have been the one. I was there for her. Always. And then you turn up, and I'm out of the picture. _Bam._ Just like that." Marty shoves his face right in front of Logan's, glaring. "I bet you're not so great."

Logan can smell the alcohol on his breath, can feel the heat of it gusting down his collar.

"I bet you're not so great."

And he crushes Logan's mouth under his, violence in the un-kiss. Teeth knock against each other, splitting Logan's lip; Marty's hands gripped his shoulders, pushing him hard against the wall. Logan presses in, bites back, but without true savagery. Tongues slick, and Marty's everywhere in Logan's mouth – the corners of the lips, behind teeth, in the crevices – where he might find some trace of Rory, Logan realizes.

Now pinned to the wall, Logan pulls Marty's hand from his shoulder and puts it under the loose wings of his collar, where rosy lipstick prints can still be seen. Marty tears the next button open, the pop making Logan laugh internally. Grabbing the other boy's hip, he pulls him closer, breaks the kiss, whispering _This_ _is where she kisses you,_ before his lips descend upon the smooth collarbone. Unbuttoning Marty's shirt, continuing – _This is where she holds you dancing_ – to place broad palms on the broad back. Running his hands up to cup shoulder blades, lips on the smooth neck, grinning quietly at Marty's attempts to stifle his own moans.

Shoving him up against the wall again, Marty sucks and nips and demands from Logan's mouth. Logan chooses to forget that this is purely about someone else, not him at all; instead he takes the advances at face value and enjoys them for what they are. He knows that he is the one in control here, no matter how hard Marty grips or bites or pushes. If that makes him vain, he'll be Marty's Narcissus any day. With enemies like this, who needs friends?

Logan breaks off; they are both panting and bloody-mouthed. Logan has untucked Marty's shirt and hooks his thumbs over the waist of Marty's pants, one hand toying with the button, brushing against his erection. He feels Marty shudder in the second of stillness.

_And when she goes down on you..._

A choked gasp, guttural and trembling, and Logan flips their positions – now it is Marty pressed against the wall, tilting his hips, closing his eyes. As Logan undoes the button and drops to his knees he hears the slap of Marty's open palm against the wall, letting go.


End file.
